


Unexpected Repercussions

by TrippinOverMyFandoms



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Aunt May (mentioned) - Freeform, BPD mention, Mild Language, Quentin beck is an okay guy, Two Parter, bad past mistakes, based on a headcanon, bipolar one mention, father son stuff, its good though because it gave us peter, mentions of drug abuse, multiple personality disorders, not canon at all, npd mention, ocd mention, tased character, theres a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-24 13:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20706932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrippinOverMyFandoms/pseuds/TrippinOverMyFandoms
Summary: - Peter Parker goes missing and SHIELD suspects Quentin Beck. The only problem is that he's been on house arrest. He has no clue where Spider-Man is. As it turns out- Peter is closer to Quentin than could have ever been guessed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No beta  
I have a good one but I don't want to bug them since I've been sending them stuff for Sladiver week (which I'm delaying with three days until the start of for my newest obsession)  
It's also 12am so yay here we go! (I wrote it mostly at 10pm so that's not bad)

Quentin Beck's apartment wasn't small by any means. His previous career at Stark Industries had left him a rather wealthy man and with that money he was able to afford a nicely sized apartment for one man. It was the size of a medium house and with an open floor plan for the kitchen, dining, and living along with a high ceiling the place felt larger than it was. Especially with the mostly white interior and minimalist style the furnishings had. It had become more cluttered recently after he was fired but before hand he was hardly ever at home and too many decorations distracted him. It was just enough to sate his OCD without over stimulating him. 

Though, no matter how big it felt or how neat the decor was, it got small and boring fast for a man who had been on house arrest since July. 

It was embarrassing really, absolutely humiliating. Oh how damaged his pride was. 

To this day he still wasn't sure how Nick Fury and SHIELD had gotten the jump on him. One minute he's mentally tormenting Spider-Man in Berlin and the next he's stunned, electricity coursing through his veins and taking him to the ground. He had been electrocuted by plenty of experiments but never tased. It was certainly something he never wanted to feel again. 

At least his own apartment was better than a five by five foot containment cell in some SHIELD facility. They had him in one of those for at least a month if not longer before they got tired of hearing him complain about it. At least that's what he told himself. It was better than being reminded that he was being used. They needed a new Tony Stark and they used him for tech upgrades. That was the most humiliating part of it all. He hated being used and working for someone else, especially when he got no credit whatsoever. His goal had been to rise up on top, be a hero and never work for anyone ever again. Only to get knocked down a reasonable amount of pegs and to wind up working for SHIELD.

He would have just hacked his way out of an ankle monitor if it had been that easy. The scar that marked the chip surgically implanted in his arm itched as a reminder that we was now basically a slave. He had tried to sort it out so maybe he could run, never to be found again, but he had only succeeded in harming himself.

Originally when it was set the perimeter was the entire building. So when he needed to stretch his legs and go beyond his apartment he'd walk the halls and sometimes take the stairs to the roof. This is when he learned he had not only a chip but an agent watching him as well. One day he had climbed up to the roof of the building only to be startled when the guy busted through the door panting (the idiot probably climbed the stairs instead of taking the elevator) an brandishing one of those damn tasers. He immediately recognized him too. He had seen the guy lingering in the hall outside his apartment once or twice. After that his perimeter was set to just his apartment. He couldn't even walk out the front door without getting a small jolt from the chip. It was as if he were a dog with a shock collar. 

So now he paced about his apartment restlessly. He had a treadmill but it wasn't energy he needed to burn, he needed a change of scenery. At least he had a balcony. It was awful though for the days he was stuck. When he couldn't think and ideas just weren't coming. Usually he would walk down to the park just a five minute walk from his building but now he couldn't even do that. 

His frustration was pent up and he felt like screaming but he knew that would irritate the neighbors and someone would call to complain meaning the building would call SHIELD and Fury would be on his ass about it. He really hated that guy. 

Quentin settled for a growl and a huff as he plopped down on his couch. He growled again as he rubbed his temples, sinking lower to where he was almost uncomfortably slouching against the cushions. He needed to think but his mind wasn't giving him anything, it was just blank, empty, void of anything helpful. 

A meow sounds from his left and he glares at the cat who's positioned herself on the pillow next to him. For a cat he kept around only to keep out bugs and snakes and rodents she sure was spoiled. Well, she was mostly there for the snake part. He was deathly afraid of those but that bit of information was usually the very last thing he would tell anyone. 

She meows again and even though Quentin glares at her she remains in her place. She must want food. Tomorrow was supposed to be the day they brought him groceries. Hopefully that included cat food. 

They end up starring at each other for a while. Quentin tries to figure out where the couch stops and where his white cat begins. She was very good at startling him, she blended in so well with the walls that he almost never saw her coming unless he was looking for her. He assumed somehow she figured this out because she got into the habit of making her presence known when she entered a room he was in. Usually by meowing. 

The cat jumps off the couch rather suddenly and runs off when the front door suddenly opens. Quentin nearly does the same since he wasn't expecting the sudden intrusion. Though, that was expected with SHIELD unfortunately. 

What's odd is that Fury is the first to walk in and behind him are Hill as well as several other agents. It seems like a raid almost. Fury looks pissed but when does he ever not. 

"Is it too much to hope you're bringing me groceries a day early?" He quips, still sitting and watching as the agents begin to look around the apartment. There wasn't much in it so it would be a quick job. 

"Watch it or we'll send military rations again. Another two weeks of MRE's sound good to you Beck?" Nick Fury scowls, looking down at him with a challenge in his eye. Quentin rolls his eyes, the memory not exactly pleasant. He had managed to piss off SHIELD somehow and they sent him two weeks worth of military field food. He practically starved to death as a refusal to eat them. They tasted nasty anyways and he could hardly believe they fed that to their armed forces. 

"I'm good thanks." He huffs, taking another glance around his apartment and the chaos going on as the agents looked in everything with a door. "Look, the tech you asked for isn't done yet so unless there's some other reason for you disturbing Delilah and me-" 

"Where's Spider-Man?" Fury is blunt and his anger seeps out in his tone. He looks like he wants to grab him and pull him onto his feet. Quentin saves him the trouble and stands up, keeping eye contact the entire time. "How the hell should I know? I've been on house arrest for the past two months. Can't exactly leave the place to kidnap a kid without your dogs sniffing me out first." He's just as pointed, making sure to let it be known how unhappy he is with only being allowed as far as his balcony. 

Fury doesn't ask, instead he looks up at a Maria Hill who looks eager to speak to him and all the other agents have stopped moving about. Quentin looks towards her as well. 

"He's not here sir. No sign of fowl play either." She looks almost disappointed and if he thought Fury couldn't look angrier somehow he was capable. Geeze, you'd thing what your prime suspect not being the one to blame would be a relief. It doesn't stop him from throwing a mocking grin his way though. He was innocent and he felt he had every right to be upset they disrupted his day and accused him of Parker's disappearance. 

He opens his mouth to say something but Hill adds, "he hasn't been taking the medications either. All but one dosage untouched since last delivery." At which his smile drops and Fury quirks a brow.

Another dreadful thing that had come out of everything. When he was still being held at the facility they did a mentally evaluation on him. If he remembered correctly he had OCD (which he already knew about), NPD, BPD, and Bipolar One. Afterwards they practically forced him to take various medicines for all of them. One time when things got bad, when he was having a rough time from being cooped up and frustrated with his work he thought he would try and take all the pills they had provided him with until he realized they were in measures doses. No more than three days worth of each. They didn't even give him more until he was out. 

"And why not?" Fury asks, crossing his arms and stiffening his posture. If he didn't know any better he'd think the man was about ready to shove them down his throat. 

"They don't work and I hate them," he says with a shrug, "I took them this morning and all they've managed to do was frustrate me and delay working on your shit. And the blue one makes me tired."

Of course Hill just has to argue, "it's supposed to. It's for your Bipolar One and you're supposed to take it at night to help with sleep." 

He rolls his eyes and turns from Fury to her, why did they care so much about his headspace? He hadn't killed himself yet and apparently the narcissistic part of him kept him from doing just that. "Well how was I supposed to know there were different times?" Mostly he's giving her a hard time just to be a little shit but at the same time he actually didn't know that.

"If you read the directions taped onto your mirror-" 

"That's enough." Fury cuts in and that's the end of it. He makes a movement with his head and the agents file out of the apartment. "If we find out Parker's disappearance has anything to do with you Beck you lose any and all privileges you have left." 

Quentin rolls his eyes yet again but nods anyways. Gosh, the stick up that guys ass. He was ready for him to leave. Thankfully he does just that and he's alone yet again.

He couldn't help but wonder though, what had happened to Peter that SHIELD was looking for him. It wasn't a 'he's avoiding us' approach it was 'he's been taken and possibly dead' kind. Or maybe they were just always over dramatic. 

At least he didn't have to deal with it anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

For one glorious week SHIELD wasn’t breathing down his neck. Peter Parker’s mysterious disappearance seemed to keep them busy enough that they didn’t pay him much mind. Which was a good thing, he was able to get some peace all to himself. 

So when that was disrupted by the knock at his front door he wasn’t pleased. 

Quentin had almost missed it, too caught up in his book. He tried to ignore it, maybe it was a solicitor, he really needed to talk to Fury about getting a sign for that. Most of the neighbors knew not to disturb him so he knew it definitely wasn’t any of them. 

The knock turned into pounding which was probably more annoying because it meant he had to open it. He growled as he rolled half hazardly off his bed. 

He could imagine who it could be, SHIELD didn’t exactly knock. Privacy invaders as he liked to call them. Thank god he hadn’t been caught with his pants down yet. 

Anyways, it couldn’t be Fury and his minions. They had already come to collect their tech and done another sweep of his apartment (still unhappy he hadn’t been taking his medications). No matter how many times they looked in his closets and under his fake planks there was still no Spider-Man. 

Delilah meows at him when she spots him crossing the living room. He pauses and looks down at her as she nudges his leg. “You couldn’t have answered the door?” He asks, knowing full well she couldn’t, it was mostly to piss whoever it was outside off and with a small hope they would leave. 

It seemed to work, there wasn’t another knock. Up until the person on the other side yelled, “Open the door Beck! I know you’re in there!” Well... it was a bit more along the lines of a screech than a shout.

The voice sounds familiar but he can’t place it. It’s too muffled by the walls. 

Quentin huffs and crosses the rest of the fandom room to get to the door. He takes the last step rather wide, keeping at least half his body from the front door and stretching his left arm, the one with the chip, behind him to keep it from possibly alerting SHIELD that he got too close to the door. 

He about falls from his precarious balancing act just trying to turn the handle. He barely gets it open then a small whirlwind pushes him back in a haste to get inside. 

A few mumbled curses later, Quentin has picked himself up off the floor and gets a look at the stranger pacing his living room floor.

When he recognizes the slim figure and messy brown hair he frowns. “Get out.” He demands.

Peter Parker stops his pacing and looks at him, a stubborn look on his face and the whole sudden stop makes it seem like he’s nonverbally telling Quentin he isn’t going anywhere instead of startled by the demand. 

“SHIELD is going batshit crazy looking for your scrawny ass and they’ve already come plowing down my door thinking I’m responsible. Go home Peter.” He puts as much emphasis on each word as he can, if SHIELD found him there, harmed or unharmed, willingly or not, they would think he was at fault. Quentin wasn’t claustrophobic but he couldn’t go back to dwelling in a cell that was too small for even a dog. He just knew if Peter was found here that’s what they would do. 

“I’m avoiding Fury,” Peter says rather bluntly, “I knew he’d be mad if I sought you out.” He’s avoiding telling him the reason behind his visit and Quentin knows it. 

There’s a beat, neither say anything, then Quentin throws up his hand and sighs. “What do you want?” He had assumed Peter was just going to tell him but it’s never that easy. 

The kid’s face drops from a neutral expression to one that looks sad and unsure. His gaze goes down to his shoes. Quentin can’t help but notice how uneven his breathing is. 

“My class did this project for senior year. DNA test. We got our results back last week,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then he takes a deep breath before he asks, “Did you know?” Peter looks up at Quentin, the look in his eyes is devastatingly depressing. It almost looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Quentin quirks a brow, really trying to ignore the look, and crosses his arms. “Did I know what?” He doesn’t exactly intend to sound as angry as it comes out but he really didn’t want his SHIELD agent to overhear voices and tattle to Fury.

Peter sighs. He pulls off his backpack and sets it on the coffee table. About a minute or two passes and Quentin wonders how much homework he could possibly have if it was taking that long- unless he was stalling.

Eventually he pulled out a couple of rumpled papers that were stapled together. He’s hesitant but eventually he thrusts them in Quentin’s direction. 

They seemed like normal DNA test results. Peter has said his class did that right? Yeah, that was it. 

They looked like they had been wadded up and thrown off a building. There were wrinkles everywhere and a few wet splotches that had made the ink run in a few spots. 

Heritage was at the top, a small pie chart that showed the kid’s ethnicity. 

He only skims it, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be looking at. It could have been anything. Just as he’s begun contemplating what it could possibly be he spots it. 

If Quentin was honest he had expected it to be Stark’s name up there in italic. It would be just Peter’s luck that he would end up biologically related to his hero and mentor. But as soon as he saw the name that was actually there he really wished Fury would bust through the front door and tase him. And he hated being tased.

Quentin Beck

The letters mocked him almost. 

“You’ve gotta be joking.” He mutters, looking up at Peter. Now his distraught appearance made sense. 

“I’m not. I kind of wish I was.” 

“So you found out, ran away giving SHIELD an aneurysm,” the whole agency might as well be his parent with how they worried over him, “and now you’re here to confront me as if I have answers.” 

“What was I supposed to do?!” Peter snaps and it honestly startles him. He hadn’t expected that much anger to come out of someone so small. 

“Oh I don’t know, move on? Throw it out, pretend you didn’t see it? I could go on honestly.” Quentin hands back the paper and crosses his arms, he was half about ready to just push Peter out the door. He didn’t want to know either. 

The response only angers Peter and he gives a growl that would rival one of Quentin’s own. “Now you’ve got to be kidding. It’s not that easy.” 

“It could be if you let it. Go about your life and forget I even exist and I’ll do the same on my end. See? Easy.” 

“You’re so cold!”

“The word you’re looking for is narcissistic.” 

They’re stuck in a heated starring match before Peter snatches up the papers and shoved them into his backpack. He doesn’t even bother zipping up the bag as he storms out the front door, making a point of slamming it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made this a 3 parter whoops


	3. Chapter 3

Quentin tried to pretend it didn't happen. As soon as Peter left he tried his hardest to go back to whatever it was he did. He would never see Peter again so it would be easier that way. Just forget it was even a possibility, because it still didn't seem real. Even if it was true it's not like he would get to see him or have special visitation. He was a bad guy in SHIELD's eyes and he didn't exactly help that visual by refusing to help them and making any aspect of their job concerning him that much harder. 

It was better this way.   
Peter would be better off.

No matter how much he told himself this he still found himself lying awake in his bed. He was tired but his mind kept him awake. Quentin couldn't stop trying to connect the dots. How was it possible? 

He had hardly been with that many women in his lifetime. Maybe two or three? He was all work and no pleasure, his inventions were always the forefront of his mind. There was no room for sex for a busy man like him. Tech came first and personal needs second. 

He had gotten in trouble that way once. He had forgotten to take care of his basic needs when he first started college. Balancing his studies and whatever he happened to be tinkering with at the time. Quentin probably would have severely suffered from malnutrition if one of his professors hadn't pointed it out to him. After class in his second semester the teacher pulled him aside and talked to him until he realized he was forgetting to take care of the basics his body needed. He had even threatened to make Quentin take a fifth grade health class if he forgot again (as a joke of course). 

From then on he was more mindful. 

But those were only basic needs, food, drink, hygiene, sleep. Sexual pleasure was not mixed in. Neither was any sort of stress relief. He remembered one of the SHIELD doctors explaining, though he didn't exactly want to hear it, that it was a type of ongoing manic episode propelled by his bipolar disorder. He didn't understand why he had phrased it like a bad thing. He saw it as it kept him going and as long as he got his work done efficiently it didn't matter. 

He didn't even have hobbies though. Work was his hobby. Sure he listened to instrumental music while he worked but that didn't count. Reading was really the only pastime he had. He owned quite a few books, some instructional and others were essays and science theories, maybe one or two fiction mixed in. Other than that he had no time for hobbies or extravagant activities. His work and taking care of himself took up most of his time. Though being on house arrest left him bored so he made sure, more like pestered, Fury so he always had something to mess around with. 

What else was he supposed to do? That's how he saw it. What would he do? 

He didn't enjoy drinking, that had ruined his father, it was why he only drank beer or cheap wine. He had seen what alcohol could do and it was enough to keep him away from it. 

He had discovered early on he didn't like clubbing. A roommate in college had convinced him to go out one time when he was eighteen and he hasn't really enjoyed it. The lights were obnoxious and the music was too loud. There were generally too many people and on top of that they were all drunk. But of course his roommate, who was of legal age, got him a fake ID and dragged him in. 

Wait! He remembered now! This is were things were falling into place. Quentin sat up in bed as he realized how Peter being his son was possible.

If he did the math, which he wasn't sure why he hadn't to begin with, it made sense. It was just the right amount of years and Peter was a senior now right? If he took into account the years of the snap, or whatever the world was calling it, the time lined up perfectly. 

And it all just kept falling into place. He couldn't remember who she was, there wasn't a clear memory because he had also allowed himself to drink a few too many beers. One thing was for certain though was that she had convinced him to go home with her. He, being stupid and naive, agreed and she was the first women he ever slept with.

The other two women he was with couldn't have been possible candidates. They happened after he graduated college and one of them he hadn't gotten past groping with before her husband walked in. 

Trying to date was far too risky and too time consuming. Much like having friends. You trust someone and then they turn out to be the opposite of who you thought they were. They stab you in the back or just end up using you, leaving you feeling like trash. 

Needless to say, he hadn't trusted anyone in a while.

Before he knew it, the sun was beginning to rise. It was still dark but he knew this hour well. Soon enough the sky would fade from a deep blue into a hazy mix of lighter blues and deep pinks. A look at the clock on his nightstand told him it was thirty minutes past five. Just as he thought. He hadn't slept at all and there was no trying now. 

Quentin realized something odd just as he began to uncover himself and before he dared placing his bare feet on the cold hard wood floor. Delilah was nowhere to be found. 

On mornings he hadn't slept he was usually awake enough to be sure and not throw the covers over the cat who usually slept on the empty side of the bed. A quick look to his right told him she wasn't there. It was strange. She must have gotten up, no big deal. She was free to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn't scratch up the furniture so there was no need to wonder about her whereabouts.

Finally, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and musters up the effort to stand, rubbing his still tired eyes as he does so. Quentin leaves his room and heads to the kitchen, the lights over the sink and stove guide his way. The stirring coming from the living space connected to the kitchen and dining startles him but he lets himself assume it's the cat. She probably traded his bed in for a throw pillow. Maybe she had a few opinions about his fight with Peter and refused to share the bed with him. 

Regardless, he begins the work of making coffee. Might as well at least. If he was going to stay up for the time being he needed something to keep him going. Once he gets it going he leans against the island in the middle of everything. 

He hears another noise and this time it sounds more distinctive, specifically coming from the couch. Quentin turns his head to look and he's startled when he sees a person there, arms stretching outward like they had just woken up which he assumed they had. 

He moves a few feet to the wall and flicks on both the kitchen and living lights. The person groans and quickly throws an arm over their eyes. Quentin has to squint himself but he can at least make out who it is.

Now with the lights on and his eyes adjusted, it's obvious that none other than Peter Parker is camped out on his couch.

"Can I help you with something?" Quentin asks, crossing his arms and ignoring the beeping of the coffee pot signaling its brewing completion. 

Peter groans again and lays his head back against the couch. "This thing isn't very comfortable." He says in a surprisingly clear matter-of-fact tone for someone who just woke up. 

"It's mostly for looks. I'm not running some kind of hotel either. What are you doing here? I thought you left in a fit of rage." When had he even come in? He was awake all night so surely he would have heard him. He either actually fell asleep at some point or he had been so deep in thought. 

"I didn't want to go home yet. My aunt knows I'm fine but I'm not ready to explain everything yet." Peter runs a hand through his messed up hair and Quentin notices it looks like he hasn't really been taking care of himself. Where had he even been staying the past week? He knew how to spot the signs of when someone was lacking in self care since he often neglected his own needs and needed to recognize that. Why he only noticed it now and not earlier he wasn't sure. Something in him surges and he finds himself wondering when the last time he had or drank was. 

That was ridiculous, Peter was a superhero, he knew how to take care of himself. He was just tired that's all. He had been through a lot as well. That's all it was.

But Peter was still a kid. Peter was his kid. This mattered whether he wanted it to or not. 

Quentin sighs in defeat, whatever paternal instinct he had was seemingly and suddenly awakened and he had just lost to it. "Where were you staying before you decided to break into my house?" He asks with a sigh, he still couldn't believe this was happening. 

Peter doesn't look at him, his gaze is on whatever spot is ahead of him. Even though Quentin can only see his profile he can still clearly see how deeply furrowed the other's brow is. 

"Kind of," Peter starts before being interrupted by a yawn, "a mix of my buddy Ned's place and wherever I landed like on rooftops and stuff," he shrugs, "haven't slept much but it doesn't matter."

Except it did matter. It did matter to Quentin because he had been there himself. There were a lot of times in his young life and even adult life where he thought his own wellbeing wasn't as important as whatever he had going on. 

He crosses the room and walks up to the couch. He feels extremely guilty when he sees Peter flinch but the kid doesn't move his gaze.

Now he could see where the cat had gone. She was curled up on Peter's lap and he could have sworn he heard her purring. He could also see that Peter was covered up with nothing more than his jacket, backpack and shoes sitting neatly by the end table. 

He's not sure what spurred him to do it. He was still very confused and very unsure of the whole situation. But Quentin sighed again and went to turn the coffee pot off then back to the wall with all the light switches for the area and turned the ones for the kitchen and living room off.

"Just," he pauses, noticing how Peter watched him out the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure if he was afraid that he would hurt him or if he wasn't sure if he'd kick him out or not, "just go back to sleep." And as soon as the words leave his lips he sees Peter visibly relax before lowering himself back down on the couch.

Before he gets back into bed himself he digs around in the closet in his room, eventually fishing out a deep burgundy colored fleece blanket that was from the community college he attended for a year when he was first starting out. He carried it back to the living room, keeping the sound of his footsteps in check as he went. 

He more or less unceremoniously laid it over Peter before turning back to his room. Maybe he could still get some sleep.

He had a son.  
Peter Parker was his son.  
He still couldn't believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it folks!   
For this part in the series anyways. Don't worry- there will be more. I hope you guys enjoyed this and my weird little headcanon. I don't know fully what spurred it other than some angsty dialogue I was making up for Quentin and one thing led to another and here we are! 
> 
> Anyways, as long as there's at least one person interested in this I'll keep updating and adding to the series. I can't wait to write the next part!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing it as a collection instead of a whole story because I can't get it to work that fluidly and I'm better at oneshots so


End file.
